


Come and Get Your Love

by asyndese



Category: Beowulf (Poem), Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, D/s, Dubious Consent, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Old Norse, Rimming, Vikings, possibly underage, so I'll just put up the warning of rape to be on the safe side, very heavy dub-con if I think about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asyndese/pseuds/asyndese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Böðvar makes true on his promise to Hött’s parents that he would take good care of the boy.</p><p>From the Saga of Hrólf kraki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come and Get Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> [Read the full saga here](http://www.oe.eclipse.co.uk/nom/Hrolf%20Kraki.htm); For Böðvar/Hött, consider Ch. 33-36.
> 
> I wished there was a fandom for this :'(

The bedding was hard, almost uncomfortable, nearly too small for one, even smaller for two and Hött had been lying there half-cramped for longer than he cared, feeling stiff as a board and hard pressed against the wooden paneling. Sleep wouldn't come either way, definitively not with the droning noises of men scattered on the floor, high pitched sighs and stertorous snores worthy of an army. There was a kink in his spine from carrying water in the morning and being buried under the heavy weight of a berserk didn't help matters in the least. He had half a mind to slip out of the hall, breathe in some fresh air and clear his head, but the thick arm draped over his waist would not let him buck and he dared not to stir too much. He'd learned rather quickly that Böðvar would only tightened his hold on him, pressing him back against his chest with a grunt that washed hotly over Hött's skin. So he stayed, listened, thought with the large beast looming behind him, groin pressed hotly to his rear.

Still, it was preferable to the cold loneliness he had spent in his bone-pile before, all considered. And unlike the others, Böðvar did not mean him harm. Not truly. From him, Hött only had to fear his thick hands and his even thicker cock, that merely bruised his ass and sometimes even his mouth when Böðvar felt so inclined. He probably should have minded more but it was a small price to pay. It was the only thing he was good at, having no skill for fighting and boasting and there was little honor to be gained without, not that he had any left to lose. It was hardly a secret what Hött was to Böðvar after the man had insisted on sharing the bed and bench seat he had been assigned by King Hrólf. There were no illusions about his place, couldn't fall further than this, but despite such ill fate, he sat further from the doors than ever before, the right bought with pity and a pretty mouth from a berserk who could kill a man with his bare hands.

 _Shoulda count myself lucky_ , Hött tested the words carefully in his head but found them lacking. If he had been truly lucky, he'd have never felt the need to set out for King Hrólf's court in the first place. But-

 _It could be worse_ , he justified instead. Worse meant sleeping close to the drafty door, worse meant loose teeth and concussions and sprained bones. Worse meant left over scraps. Worse meant spending his days among the dogs than among men.   
No, this was an improvement, regardless of the few inconviniences it brougth and he rolled with resignation slowly around in Böðvar's arms to relieve his aching back. But the calloused hand on his waist moved with him, slipping around to settle over his ass with a squeeze and he almost jolted at the touch.

This up close Hött could see the Böðvar's eyes opening a fraction in the dim, sooty twilight of the hall, staring at him from under his dark brows. Not asleep after all, though his breath remained even, his body relaxed, face untroubled and smooth. His biceps bulged under Hött's cheek as his fingers idly combed through Hött's hair, the gentleness of it belying his intent.

It became quite clear enough when he shifted forward to press a hefty thigh between Hött's legs, knee nudging behind his scrotum. It made his stomach drop with sudden dread that he would be taken to the ears of anyone who was still awake in the hall. There was a man, Svipdag, barely three dozen ells away, Hött could hear him breathe noisily through his mouth. It would not take much to wake him, not with the way Hött always ended up moaning his acquiesance into the furs whenever Böðvar decided Hött owed him some gratitude.  
  
"Can't sleep?" Böðvar asked at long last, voice a low timbre that rumbled intimately between them.

"Nay, thinking," he whispered back, mouth dry and gaze dropping down to the black space between their bodies, fearing for something he already knew would come but for which he could not help but anticipate. Böðvar followed his gaze, fingers in his hair tightening as Hött felt along the flat, tight plane of his stomach. The pronounced ridges between the muscles moved into Hött's palm with each of Böðvar's breath. Warm. Strong. He must not be scared.

"About the beast?" Böðvar sounded amused but he had not seen the thing, mighty and terrifying, powerful enough to end even the best of King Hrólf's retainers. A beast would hardly be worth the commotion when faced with such formidable men like Harðrefil and Starólf, but this thing--- this was different. That Böðvar made light of Hött's fear was nothing new, as he was ever so valiant, and yet it stung each time.

"No beast, I told you. It is a,  _ah--"_  Hött's breath hitched when Böðvar's hand slid away from his ass to wrap around one wrist to steer Hött's fingers lower. Over the soft fuzz around his navel to coarser, denser hair between his legs. "-- a troll," he finished weakly, obediently stroking along the seam of his hip down to the underside of Böðvar's cock. He weighted it in his palm, still amazed at the heaviness of it, its girth. Of how it still fit into him even when flushed to full hardness.

"So you keep saying," Böðvar grinned, flash of white teeth like a wolf's maw in his short beard. Too close to Hött's face. "I'll kill it for you."

And that was the bad part. Hött knew he would. No doubt he planned something brash and heroic and he would take Hött with him and doom them both to their deaths. Hött would admire him for it all the more.

"Leaving the hall is forbidden by the king," he tried to reason for self-preservation. But Böðvar spoilt his efforts by guiding Hött's hand over his swelling cock, urging him on by drawing small circles on the inside of his wrist. Hött tugged obediently, slowly, coaxing and he could feel heat creep up his neck at the feel of skin moving under his fingers,the slight stickiness of the head under the pad of his thumb.

"Are you this afraid?" Böðvar asked with no small wonder, tip of his tongue seeking out the dip in Hött's chin, the corner of his mouth. It felt too intimate and Hött turned his face away, breathed "Yes," into the berserk's clavicle.

The word almost got stuck in his throat when Böðvar leant in further, crowding him against the bedding. He was smoothing his battle-roughened hands up the corded muscles of his arms in a heavy caress, letting Hött know in no small amount what he wanted, what he had intended probably the moment he had pulled Hött out of his bony shield-wall by his elbow. There was no point of resisting when Böðvar pulled away the blankets and rolled him onto his back, prying his thighs apart with a heavy hand to one knee.

"Don't be." The man felt imposing between his legs, raw and untamed and he could not stop the sudden shiver wracking his body like a storm.

"Stop shaking," Böðvar murmured, voice a searing spear of heat in Hött's ear and the wet slide of his tongue against the shell came almost as a shock. He closed his legs on a reflex around the strong waist, drawing down the berserk's weight that threatened to smother him. Like this, Böðvar's cock was like a branding iron, trapped along the seam of Hött's leg and the wrongness of it made him ache for it.

Surely enough his squirming only angled him up for the slow, burning drag along his hole. A hand to his ass held him in place as Böðvar shifted his hips and the slick, soft head jabbed against his rim. Any attempt to move out of the way was met with a raspy chuckle.

"Relax."

He could feel himself clench around nothing, the threat of being breached very real. It hovered like some judgement between his cheeks, throbbing in time with Böðvar's pulse. Nothing entirely new, but always, always terrifying.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you," Böðvar said hoarsely, the promise thick and tempting and Hött let his legs fall open again, relaxing in increments, because what else was there for him? Was this not preferable? Should he not be grateful that Böðvar had saved him from misery at the court, had fed and dressed him, turned him into a man again; protected him from the other retainers and their abuse? And all Böðvar demanded was access to Hött's body and mind, to allow the berserk to shape him to his liking. To find relief in these cold times.

  
It was too easy, like this, and Hött hated himself for his weakness, that he could not fight for himself. That he was more afraid than brave, more needy than self-reliant, deviant in more ways than these by wrapping his pale arms around Böðvar's large back, nose buried in the rough underside of his jaw. Here, Böðvar smelled like man and sex and leather and it made Hött grunt with arousal, the sound dark and unhappy in the back of his throat. Even in this most basic nature, he had to relay on others.

"Going to take good care of you," Böðvar bit harshly with a roll of his hips, the head of his cock slipping between Hött's ass cheeks insistently, the coarse hair at the base tickling his balls. He could hear the man breathe against his neck like a great warhorse, aggressive and unrestrained, his grip bruising. There were going to be more hand shaped marks on his ass and hips later and when Böðvar rubbed greedy hands along his thighs and flat stomach, it made heat coil low in his groin when he knew it should not.

 _"Hattagriði,"_  he moaned into Böðvar's skin, the word a buzzing vibration along the column of the berserk's strong throat.

"Yes," the sibilant was a possessive hiss in Hött's ear. "As long as you need it."

For a while, Böðvar seemed content to grind against him though it was by no means gentle. The force of Böðvar's bulky frame shoved Hött up the bedding until his head knocked against the wooden panel of the wall. Böðvar merely chuckled at his displeased grunt and wrenched him forward again so that the back of his knees lay in the crook of his elbows, holding him accessible.

He was grateful for the dim twilight, grateful that they were hidden from view near one of the pillars, under the furs that felt too hot, too stifling. Grateful even, that Böðvar would not be able to see much of his flushed face, even less of the shame that lay stiff between his legs, pulsing insistently at every harsh stab near his hole, at every glide along the seam of his hips.

Böðvar knew though, he always did and he palmed him roughly, fingers likes thick ropes wrapping around his aching cock. His callouses were catching at his foreskin painfully and Hött choked on a groan.

"You like that, hm? I'll fuck that pathetic fear right out of you." For a terrifying moment Hött thought him to make good of his promise when Böðvar widened his stance on his knees, bottoming out and Hött's thighs followed suit, falling wide.  
  
"N-not here, kind sir, they will know," he managed in a small voice, arms shaking around the man's broad back. Böðvar dug sharp teeth into the meat of his shoulder, sucking an indulgent bruise that would be difficult to hide under the low cut of his too big undershirt and tunic that the berserk had lent him.  
  
"Of course they'll know. What, you think you've got any honour left to lose?" Böðvar's tongue dragged rough and wet over the sore mark, then up his cheek, over the slight stubble on his chin, tasting him and the embarrassment that burned hot on his face. "Until I make you new, _this_ is what you are."  
  
Hött could not deny the truth in that, though he made a distressed sound all the same, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow when Böðvar placed open mouthed, lingering kisses down his throat, inhaling deep near his armpit as if savoring his scent.  
  
He could not prevent the shaky gasp when Böðvar made a show of working his nipple into a swollen, hard nub with slow licks, suckling at it like it was a girl's tit until it throbbed from the treatment, the dull echo of it resonating in his cock. He rocked up into the mouth, into the berserk's bulky frame and he could feel how Böðvar was pressed forward by his restless shifting, the ridge of the head catching at his hole. It burned, the stretch unwelcome but familiar and Hött hissed through his teeth, hands going for Böðvar's thick, black hair as his own cock dragged along the berserk's stomach, over the fine hair there.  
  
Böðvar removed himself from Hött, hands grabbing one slim thigh to turn him over. "Let me taste you," he ordered, making room for Hött to roll onto his stomach, baring his backside to the rough slide of the man's hand over the uninterrupted line of pale skin. Fingers trailed over the back of his sack, along the rim before his ass cheeks were pried apart. Böðvar wrenched him up onto his knees with an unforgiving hand, tugging him into his open, wet mouth and the soft bristles of his beard. He was relieved, that he could muffle his appreciative moan into the furs as a slick tongue probed at him, as he rocked back into the almost painful suction of Böðvar's lips.  
  
The berserk had a skill with his mouth when he put his mind to it, and Hött always despaired at how much he shouldn't like it but did anyways, with the furs bunched up in tight in his fists and his eyelashes clumped together wetly. He sucked in a stuttering breath when Böðvar breached him at last with a thick finger, wet with spit and lard and shoving in deep. He would never get accustomed to the strain and he cramped down on it, feeling too full too soon but unable to care either way.

Böðvar only worked him through it, alternately mouthing the vulnerable skin next to his pucker or the soft, fuzzy underside of his sack. "Boy trying to run with men," Böðvar snarled, biting just below the swell of his ass. "I'll show you.”

The words rang loud in Hött's ears and when Böðvar pushed in a second blunt digit, his hand sneaked down to his own arousal, hanging thick and heavy between his legs to jerk himself in counterpoint to the fingers fucking him loose and open. Böðvar was anything but gentle, knuckles deep upon the third languid thrust but Hött rocked back into it all the same, breathing small unchecked  _ah's_  into the bedding whenever Böðvar filled him up particularly good, brushing over that bundle of nerves on the next rough jab.

"Kind sir--" Hött found his voice in a warning stutter, caught between the friction in his ass and around his own cock.

"You gonna come?" Böðvar stilled, thumb drawing circles around his quivering hole, both soothing and testing the resistance there. Only dimly he noticed that Böðvar had crooked his fingers and pressed hard up against that place inside that had him bite his lips and thighs shake with how much he ached for it.

"Mhmm," Hött confirmed with a desperate moan into the spit-wet bedding beneath him. His hand kept stroking his own cock with fast, painful tugs when he felt the pressure of a third finger slide in, squelching with how slick it was with lard. He rocked back onto the short thrusts with the red of embarrassment high on his cheeks.

"That's it, boy," Böðvar grunted when he clenched around the thick digits on the outpull. "You're as loose as a bitch in heat." Böðvar spread his fingers, widening the tight passage. The burn was like a searing spear, travelling up his spine before it settled in his stomach. It made his dick jump, pre-cum easing his hand and he burrowed deeper into the bedding, unwilling to let Böðvar hear his undignified  _'please'._

Böðvar seemingly took pity on him. His sweaty palm squeezing Hött's sack was all it took and he came in a great surge, hot ropes of come sullying the fur beneath him, his hand, his stomach. He muffled his gratified gaps in the crook of his arm as he rode out his orgasm, rocking incrimentally against the fingers still buried inside him until he could feel Böðvar's rough knuckles graze the rim. He thought it a great loss when they pulled out, leaving an emptiness in their wake that he would never get used to.  
  
He gave a violent twitch when Böðvar touched Hött's hand, still wrapped tightly around the base of his cock as if afraid to let go. gathered some of it to coat himself in belated preparation, Böðvar's rough palm smeared Hött's own come over his spent cock in the process. Hött still felt flushed, hyper-sensitive to each crude touch when Böðvar pressed him face-down again, sprawled out before him like a feast. "Lie as open as you can," the berserk murmured as leaned down, breathing him in, nose and beard tickling the vulnerable side of his neck. It was all the warning he would get. His hole tried to clench shut but it was too loose, the muscle too worn down to offer any real resistance when he felt the slicked, warm head of Böðvar's cock aligning to-.  
  
"Kind sir," he said again on a gasp as the ridge caught on his sore rim. Böðvar's hand between his shoulders kept him in place, sweaty and too heavy, making him take it, inch after stiff inch. When the man's hips came to rest flush against his buttocks, he breathed out shakily, knuckles turned white with how hard he clawed at the fur.

"You're doing so good," Böðvar said in the tense pause between one thrust and another. It had started with gentle rocking, a slow, lingering grind that left Hött shaking with over stimulation, but Böðvar was not a patient man by nature and he shifted his stance once, knees forcing Hött's thighs wide. It knocked the breath right out of Hött's chest, his lower body a half-molten mess where Böðvar had speared him open with his raw strength.

"My turn now," Böðvar's bit into his nape, breathing hot against his damp skin.

It was all business after that. Böðvar drove into him hard without preamble, holding nothing back, seeking his own pleasure with a gravel-voiced urgency. Hött yelped when he squeezed one cheek to have a better look at his own dick vanishing inside the swollen, puffy hole, hooking his thumb into the meat of his ass. He kicked out with his leg once, toes curling when the head of Böðvar's cock nudged his inside just right, but the berserk kept him right where he was.

There was no escape from the powerful surges against him, shoving him forward before strong hands pulled him back against him over and over again. At one point, Böðvar leant back down, arms coming around Hött's shoulders and boxing him in. He was all heat and raspy breath, his chest and stomach meeting Hött's back over and over again in waves. The downy hair of the man's thighs was titillating against his bare skin, adding to his unacknowledged arousal that sat like guilt in his chest.

"That what you wanted?" Böðvar asked once, wrecked, one hand covering Hött's mouth to keep him from moaning too loudly, two fingers shoved in and Hött could only suck on them, biting the rough skin, letting the pads drag over his tongue. "To be stuffed with cock? Hm?" He accentuated the question with a powerful thrust, driving in his length unrelentingly into him and there was little point in resisting when he got like that.  
  
Hött met him halfway to take out the brunt of the force but all it did was to rub his half-hard cock into the sticky mess, the fur making it an easy glide. It was too much, his hole and genitals throbbing and damp and greasy from the lard. Even his knees shook and he held onto Böðvar's elbows for dear life, anchoring himself onto the pain when the man sucked the skin of his shoulder between his sharp teeth, adding another bruise. He didn't think he could come again, he hoped he wouldn't. He would never be able to live down that particular shame.

It was bad enough that the wet noise of flesh slapping against flesh was like lead sinking into his stomach. He did not want to enjoy being mounted as if he were a woman, but Böðvar's cock was a satisfying weight in his ass, the callouses on his hands unlocking the moan trapped in his throat easily when he shoved one hand under his pectoral and squeezed down, brushing his palm over one nipple, yanking him effectively back into the roll of his hips. Only the the fear of being called out by the others was his saving grace from begging for it, though Böðvar's quiet, constant stream of praise of whispering hotly in his ear was of little help.

Hött merely whimpered around the fingers still in his mouth, biting down but certain he'd been heard, that they'd be called out by waking, taunting men. But nobody dared. Or perhaps they simply did not care when Böðvar claimed him with a final groan, long and drawn out, freeing himself of Hött's punishing grip on his lower arms to hold him down by the shoulders, fucking into his ass until his balls pressed against Hött's own on every sharp, stabbing thrust.

He could not feel the scorching heat of Böðvar's come, but he felt the pressure, the twitch of the berskers sex as he released inside of him. They both panted for what felt like an eternity, the berserk's forehead pressed between Hött's shoulder blades, unmoving but for his fingers seeking out Hött's entrance, toying around the swollen rim. Eventually, he pulled out with a shuddering breath, slowly as if savouring the sensation, taking half of his spending with him to trickle down Hött's balls.

He felt thoroughly debauched, wrecked and dirty and he rolled onto his back with a huff, mindful of his abused hole. It was not the first time and it certainly would not be the last that Böðvar reminded him of his station. But there was little to be done about the state he was in beside stretching his legs and arms, finally cracking his spine while Böðvar ran a hand over his flank, mapping out his ribs. It was almost reverent.

"Want me to take care of that?" the berserk asked unbidden, his knuckles brushing over Hött's neglected, stiff member.

"I--," Hött hesitated, trying to cover himself.

"It's alright. I got you," Böðvar hushed, tilting his chin up with two fingers and slanting his mouth over Hött's own. The kiss was slow, burning Hött up from the inside out and it was worse than Böðvar making Hött swallow his own shameful noises when he fucked him. The dichotomy of Böðvar's beard scratching over his chin and the warm slick tongue in his mouth left him too hot in his own skin and his legs fell apart easily at Böðvar large palm running over the head of his cock.   
  
"I can't," Hött tried with Böðvar breathing into his open mouth. This felt affectionate and intimate, sharp teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the corner of his mouth. Böðvar wasn't like that. He wasn't a deviant like Hött, he wasn't  _argr_  and they never kissed (except when Böðvar was so drunk he didn't know cunt from cock).

"Yeah, you do." The reply was smug and Böðvar kept staring at his face with a determined, intense focus, cataloging the way he bit down on his own swollen bottom lip, the flutter of his lashes as Böðvar curled a sure fist around his cock. He jerked him with a thumb sweeping over the tip every now and then. He didn't want to come again, not after he'd been fucked sore, not when he could still feel Böðvar's seed sticky between his thighs but it took no time at all, embarrassingly fast, and he bit down on his moan as he felt his come splash over Böðvar's knuckles down his stomach.  
  
"Good boy," Böðvar said with a satisfied rumble and licked over his cheeks, soothing the beard-burn only marginally. Wiping his hand on the bedding, he said "Always so responsive" as if it was commendable.

"Thank you." There was little to reply about that, so he just lowered his gaze. Böðvar merely tousled his hair, combing the blonde strands out of his face, treating him to all appearances like a bond-woman he'd taken to bed rather than a man of equal standing. Burying in the furs, he hid himself, afraid of the world's judgement when he felt Böðvar settling behind him, his lips brushing over his ear and cheek. A warm, secure presence that tugged him closer in, almost protective. It was nearly enough to lull him to sleep, boneless and as exhausted as he felt from their tryst. But then Böðvar chuckled behind him, the sound translating directly into Hött's back.

"Kind sir?" Hött asked with a deep frown settling over his face when Böðvar didn't say anything else and instead just reached for his abandoned, rumbled tunic and boots, twisting and bending behind him. The clink of a belt buckle made Hött turn around, alarmed.

"I've had a thought. Wash up," Böðvar said in a bold tone, hardly lowering his voice over the snore of the other retainers in the hall as he sat up and pulled his trousers over his bare ass. "And put on that woolen shirt I gave you."

His own tunic was thrown in his face and he wrenched it off in time to see Böðvar tying his  _vápntreyja_  in an efficient hurry. He was proving an imposing figure in the dying embers of the longfire, broad shouldered and mighty and when he put on his helmet, the glint of the metal made him look like a true hero. Hött had the sinking feeling that the berserk had a terrible undertaking in mind.  
  
Still, he asked "What? Now? Why?" panicked and small and shaking with the idea of going out into the blazing snow, into the maw of death. He had a hard time just tying the laces on his trousers. No-one was this crazy to go against the king's direct orders and face the beast alone. To walk willing into their demise. Böðvar couldn't mean it, he  _couldn't._

But Böðvar evidently did, because he buckled his sword, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Why," he said easily and bent down to pick up Hött because his knees had given out under him. "To turn you into a man, of course."

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes on the saga and Böðvar's and Hött's relationship see [this tumblr entry](http://hosith.tumblr.com/post/97154426083/some-thoughts-on-boe-vars-and-hoetts-relationship) :3


End file.
